Hold Still, Chad Dylan Cooper Revised
by 10millionpeople
Summary: The other one had some grammar errors that were really bothering me, but I didn't make any plot changes : I didn't deleat the other, because I wanted to keep the reviews : Thanks to everyone that reviewed on the original!


**A/N- [GRAMATICALLY REVISED Don't read if you read the first one!] Okay, FastReader22 never PM'ed me back, but I assume I'm okay with the number & word. GAH, Chad is **_**so**_** OOC. Haha, please excuse that :P My number was 24; my word, "tears". Oh, and I referenced the book **_**Twenty Boy Summer.**_** It's an awesome read— go buy it; now! Side note: I know, I need to update Someone Else's Fairytale!**

**Disclaimer- I don't own SWAC or TBS. :P**

* * *

_I remember the times we spent together on those drives. We had a million questions all about our lives, and when we got to New York everything felt right. I wish you were here with me... tonight._

My masculine voice comes out through the speakers, and my guitar riffs sound right behind them, intertwining themselves neatly with the notes of my voice, and the whole opening show scares me a little at first. I never realized how strong my musical abilities were until now.

I close my eyes, tight, and try to focus on getting the words, melody, and cues right. The lone drum riff in the background keeps my pace steady, and I silently thank my lucky stars there's at least _something _holding time for me, because right now, I can't seem to get a grip on anything.

Memories flood through my mind all at once; from the fat suit to the Peace Picnic... the "puppy shover" interviews _("We should hang out sometime.") _to the secret prom... it's all I can do not to chuckle at the thought of me, after having everything else _perfect_, forgetting to put on the music. Smiling feels good right about now.

_I remember the days we spent together were not enough, and it used to feel like dreaming, except we always woke up. Never thought not having you here now would hurt so much..._

I'm so caught up in reminiscing about the happy moments I'd had with her (something I should probably be doing more often), I almost miss my voice cue for the second verse. But luckily, I remember, and as I sing the last line, I feel a pang in my chest... and my half-hearted smile fades into an expressionless glare. Suddenly the church floor becomes _very _interesting.

My hands clam up and become sweaty, and I tighten my grip on the guitar pick in fear of dropping the thing all together, but soon (_very_ soon) I let my fingers relax, and let my hands (and voice) belt out the chorus, earning what seems to be a few tears shed from the abundant audience. I don't blame them.

If I wasn't the one standing up here in front of all of them... singing my heart out... I'd be crying, showing everyone all of the things better kept locked away in the crevices of my mind. All the things better left hidden, rather than trailing down my face, leaving salty, unforgiving streak stains for all the world to see.

_Tonight I've fallen and I can't get up. I need your loving hands to come and pick me up, and every night I miss you, I can just look up and know the stars are holding you, holding you, holding you tonight._

I mentally curse this stupid song for not having hardly _any _only-instrumental parts. Why I picked this one, I don't know... it wasn't like she loved FM Static or anything. In fact, I doubt she had ever even heard of them. I know I hadn't. But for some reason, while skimming songs to sing, because I knew I wanted to perform _something_, this kind of stuck out. And it sounds great acoustic.

I feel tears prick in my eyes, and I try my best to blink them back, not forward, because the last thing I want to do now is start sobbing. I haven't cried yet, and I'd like to keep it that way, please.

I lower my head, then bring it up for the third verse.

_I remember the time you told me about when you were eight, and all those things you said that night that just couldn't wait. I remember the car you were last seen in, and the games we would play. All the times we spilled our coffees and stayed out way too late..._

I stifle a broken-hearted laugh from escaping while I sing the last line. All those nights we'd be at the studio... just the two of us... we'd say we were "practicing", but everyone knew the truth. We'd play Twenty Questions in the Commissary, have pillow fights in my dressing room... we had it all.

We had the fame; we had the money, the happiness... and each other... We had everything we'd ever want; everything we would ever need.

I hold a high note, and my voice cracks at the end of it. It finally hits me. Words make their way into my head... words I've avoided until now. Words like 'dead' and 'blood' and 'crash' and 'gone', 'deceased' and 'save' and _'too late'_.

I loved her—I still love her—and now she's gone. It will _never_ be fair.

_**She giggles, intertwining her fingers with mine, clinging to my arm with her other hand.**_

"_**The beach is nice, Chad."**_

_**He looks down at her, hair blowing in the wind, no makeup on, bronze-stained eyelashes bobbing up and down with each delicate, simple blink she takes, adding moisture to her pupils. He smiles downward. "Beautiful, right?"**_

_**He's still looking at her.**_

_**Another giggle; she's looking forward, and he jerks his head up to direct his vision to the raging water. "Sure is..." she says on a breath.**_

_**They continue walking, and he turns her to face him, letting go of his arm.**_

"_**Allison Amelia Munroe, I love you."**_

_**She gasps, and stands still for a second. Time stops, the sand not even budging from the hourglass as she embraces him, wrapping her arms as tightly around his neck as her slender body will allow. He holds onto her waist for dear life, like if he doesn't, she'll vanish without a trace, and time will start again, leaving them behind.**_

"_**I love you too, Chad Dylan Cooper." Her voice comes out soft and into his hair, and he can barely hear it over the 'whoosh, ahh' of the waves behind them, crashing into the bank of the sand, thinking they are powerful enough to break through it; knowing they're strong enough to tear it away.**_

_**A few moments pass, and she speaks again, leaning her head on my shoulder and looking up at me.**_

"_**Hold still, Chad Dylan Cooper. Right now, everything is perfect."**_

Suddenly, I can't remember the next verse.

The memories flash at me like photographs, their crisp edges perfectly visible when I shut my eyes, and still when I don't.

Everything around me swirls, and as _hard_ as I try, I can't make my hand strum the guitar. My voice stops in my throat, and I can faintly hear the drums in the background stop playing, people all around me whispering "it's just too early" and "this wasn't a good idea", but they have _no clue_ what I'm feeling right now.

My heart feels shattered, broken beyond repair. It feels as if something, _something thick_, pierced the small space between my heart and lungs and now I have to choose between my lungs—living—and my heart—loving.

Because now that she's gone, I know I can't have both.

I hear the muffled sounds of tears falling from bloodshot eyes, and the sharp intake of breath as her close friends and relatives think about what happened, and the fact that they will _never, ever _see her again.

I'm underwater, and everything around me is still. People move in slow motion, trying to break free from this transparent prison. I don't fidget, don't squirm... because I know I won't have anyone to go too when I'm finally set free.

My mouth gapes open a little, and I know for a fact I look like a _complete idiot_, sitting here, not moving, having stopped singing and playing right in the middle of a song. Suddenly, I feel a hand on my shoulder and I lower my head for half a second, then bring it up to look at the person behind me.

Tawni looks down at me, her black strapless dress sagging a little, her once perfect mascara smearing and smudging down her salt-stained cheeks. Her red eyes stare right into mine, and suddenly I can't hold the tears back any longer. What's the point in hiding them? She's _dead. _Gone. Forever.

I silently put my guitar down beside me and look up at Tawni for another second or two, then sniffle, and bury my face in my hands. Tawni kneels at me as I lower my hands and head to my knees, but I wrap them around her and hold on for dear life, hiding my now-puffy face in her thick curls, soaking them through with the unforgiving stain of bitter tears. Tears of loss.

She doesn't cry anymore, and I know she's being strong for me. I haven't cried until now, and I don't know why. I've been listening to that song since Friday night- _the _Friday night- but I haven't really sung it with that much feeling until now. They always say that you're in shock before it finally hits you. Everything flooded out at me all at once, and for the first time in a long while I feel completely and utterly _alone._

Tawni presses her hands into my back, and slowly whispers, "Shhhh," in my ear. I sniff one more time and rise up from her shoulder, wiping my eyes, and pick up my guitar. She stands up, and I position the microphone at a place where I can easily sing into it. She gives me a half-smile, and I can tell it's taking everything she has to form it.

"You know... you don't have to do this." I sigh, and pick up my pick.

"I know. But she would want me to finish what I started."

The blonde nods an okay, knowing I'm right, and I turn back to the drummer. He mouths a discreet "Are you alright?" and I nod.

"Where we left off," I say back to him, and he gives me a thumbs up.

His beat opens us up again, and I can hear inquisitive remarks from the congregation before the rumble dies down.

_I remember the time you sat and told me about your Jesus and how not to look back even if no one believes us. When it hurt so bad sometimes not having you here, I sing,_ _"Tonight I've fallen and I can't get up. I need your loving hands to come and pick me up. And every night I miss you, I can just look up, and know the stars are holding you, holding you, holding you tonight."_

I play the closing riffs, and the drum dies down, so as I hold the last note, it's just me and the acoustic, and I can't help but think that she would have _loved_ this.

I strum the last couple notes, and lower my head at the very end of the song. At first, everyone seems a little shocked, but the clapping starts ten seconds after I get down. Ten more seconds pass, and clapping erupts, with a standing ovation. I smile, but my heart isn't in it, and stand up from my stool.

I sniff, and wipe my eyes, hoping my suit isn't tear stained like my face. I pick up the microphone from the stand and walk up to the podium. _God, help me get through this without another breakdown._

"I know most of you knew Miss Munroe personally... some of you might not have, but I did." I pause for a moment, and exhale. This is harder than I thought it would be. "I knew her... erm, _very _well. She was uh... she was really special to me." I see a couple tears escape from the audience, and I scratch the back of my neck with my hand not holding the microphone. Good thing I ditched most of that ego after the first year of dating.

"As you may know, I didn't write the song I just sang. It's by FM Static, and I'm"—I chuckle half-heartedly—"sorry about the... erm... _interruption, _in the middle; I-I apologize for that." I look at Tawni and Nico in the first row, beside each other, a bawling Grady on the other side of the Tawni. Poor guy. He was always so sensitive. Zora sits beside him, and her face just has this blank, expressionless stare, looking almost mask-like.

I chuff. "I did, however, write a letter to her a while back. I was going to give it to her on our two year anniversary, which was Friday..." _The Friday. _I trail off. _God, _I can't do this. I just can't.

Wiping a hand across my face, I fumble in my pocket for the folded up piece of paper I've been carrying with me everywhere since... that day, and take one last, deep breath. "I'd like to read the first paragraph to you."

I bring the mic down, and cough.

"_Dear Allison,_

_I know. You always hate it when I call you that. I don't know why, though— it's a beautiful name. So much better than Chad. You know, Sonny, these last two years have been... well, they have flown by. It seems only yesterday I was rehearsing how to ask you on a 'second first date', and trying to find a man that would supply enough rope to hold me from the roof of your building down to your window. These years never do seem to stay; do they?"_

I lower my head, and discreetly wipe away a few tears that fell during the letter. I hope no one noticed.

"I never knew how right that last sentence was until now." I pause for a minute, and then cough out a muffled "thank you" as I fold the letter, put it in my jacket pocket, and walk back down to my seat beside Nico. He squeezes my shoulder, and I wipe a palm down my face as people clap.

Someone else is up at the podium- the preacher, I think- lecturing us about how she's "in a better place" and we'll "see her again someday" and blah, blah, blah. I don't care. She's not here now, and no one can ever make that right.

* * *

I walk into the reception area and sit down at a table. All of them are covered with satin cloths, and I know her parents must have put a lot into this. Taking a mental note to give them a five hundred after everything is over, I sigh and bury my face in the palms of my hands.

Tawni and the rest of the _So Random! _crew already left. So I'm here alone. Oh joy.

There's a video of pictures of her from when she was a child, and some from when she was a tween, and some when she was working on _So Random!_. I look at a couple photographs, then see one from when I went to her house in Wisconsin for Thanksgiving, pushing her on a tire swing.

_**She wears a red sweater and bell-bottoms; him an argyle sweater and washed-out jeans. The leaves are just at their finale for the fall, as a dead-grey hue halos around the reds, oranges, yellows, and greens.**_

"_**Chad! Come on!" She yells at him from the front porch. He bolts through the kitchen door and laughs, screaming "I'm gonna get you!" But she's too fast. She flies down the steps, her foot missing every one of them, and runs in the direction of the tire swing.**_

_**She calls out to him, chasing her. "Push me, Chad!" And laughs, headed for the big oak tree way out on the far side of the Munroe property. She hears him laugh from ten feet behind.**_

"_**Only if you let me catch you!" She smirks, and slows her pace a little, but not noticeably. Suddenly, he comes up behind her and grabs her waist, her giggling and screaming and laughing and smiling as he holds her bridal style and spins her around, kicking up some of the fallen leaves.**_

_**Snap!**_

_**Her mother had followed them out, camera in hand. They all laughed, and he put her down and they ran, hand in hand, towards the tire swing.**_

"_**Push me!" She giggled, hopping on and giving herself a start-off push from the ground. He smiles—he's been doing a lot more of that, lately—and pushes the old, black swing as it plummets towards him. **_

_**Snap!**_

_**She's looking toward her mother, and he's facing her, still flying on the tire swing. Her mother beckons him over, and he leaves her to swing freely as he walks a little further from the tree with Mrs. Munroe.**_

_**She smiles. "You're different than you used to be, Chad." They watch her daughter swing on the tire, back... forth... back... forth... the wind 'whoosh, ahh'ing in her hair.**_

"_**You really like her; don't you?" Her mother asks. He chuffs, and looks her straight in the eyes.**_

"_**I love her, ma'am." She smiles, and a glint of approval hints in her eyes.**_

_**She crosses her arms, and they direct their attention back to the oak tree as she speaks.**_

"_**Hold still, Chad Dylan Cooper. Right now, everything is perfect."**_

I can't watch the slideshow anymore.

Suddenly, a waiter comes up to me and holds out a tray. I gasp, and anger suddenly fills all of my being. He doesn't notice.

"Wine, sir?" He asks. I scowl at him bitterly. I'm not even _at age, _and he's offering me alcohol.

"Wine? As in, an _alcoholic_ drink?" This infuriates me. "This is how you 'celebrate her death'?"—I use air quotes to mock the words of the preacher. He said them somewhere in the service... I think—"By wallowing in the same liquid that _killed her?"_ By this time, my voice has gotten a lot louder, a lot madder, and I can see the poor man shiver and cower back slowly. Who knew I could be so intimidating. I feel a pang of guilt—_he's just doing his job_—but I push it aside.

"You know how she died, _right?"_ Sarcasm dripping from every word. People are starting to stare. "Drunk driver. Hit her at an intersection; she never saw it coming." With her on my mind, I reach out and stick my hand under his tray, flipping, listening in pleasure to the shattering of glass and spilling of that _poison_.

By now people really _are _stopping and turning their heads to see what the _hell_ all the commotion is about. Many of them holding fancy glasses with a deep, red liquid in them. It makes me sick.

I storm towards the door, fuming red with hot anger, but stop and whirl around before I exit the doors. People are still staring. Well, let them.

"Screw you!" I yell, then let my voice decrease in volume a little... but not much.

"Most of us here aren't even _of age _to drink! And you know what? Allison Amelia Munroe _died_ because of what you're drinking. Some might say I've overreacting, but an innocent person _lost their life_ because someone had a little too much of that _poison_ and couldn't drive! So on your way home, try not to kill anyone else's girlfriend, mmkay?" The last part comes out before I can stop it, and it's swimming in sarcasm. Whatever. I'm done with caring what others think.

I swivel around, and blow out of the church's fellowship hall. By this time my blood is _boiling,_ and I'm shaking from head to toe. I interlock my fingers together at my abdomen as I exit the church basement and step outside into the crisp night air.

It's pitch black—9:57 am—and the only things I can make out are the little stars reflecting off of cars. The shaking soon stops and I cool down, scanning the parking lot for my sports car. When I finally see it, I click the 'unlock' button on my keys and go to hop in the driver's seat when I realize something's missing.

_Crap. Crap. Craaaaaap. _I left my guitar in the fellowship hall. Where the reception is. Where everyone saw my meltdown. And now I have to go in there and face them all again.

Locking my car back, I stuff the keys in my pockets and hold my breath.

It's not as loud as it was before, and when I walk in it gets a little quieter, despite some whispers floating around all the people that suddenly stopped what they were doing and turned to look at me. I notice a difference in them... their glasses, the wine glasses, are replaced with water bottles or sodas. Could it be...?

I spot my guitar in a corner, and quickly head over that way. As I'm picking it up, a voice rises up. "Chad, we thought about what you said." It's Mr. Munroe. "And you're right. I mean..." His voice cracks, and I feel tears welling up inside of me. "I guess I never thought of it like that."

My vision falters, and I let a few small drops skim down my cheeks. But only a few. Because if I let too many tears fall, someone might notice.

I smile and nod. "Thank you, sir." My voice sways in the middle, and comes out less confident than I hoped. Then, I slowly make my way out of the fellowship, but turn around one more time. Everyone is still quiet. It's now or never.

_Help me._"Look, I'm really sorry I kind of... erm... exploded, but... yeah, and... I'm sorry." I never apologize, and I've done it twice in less than three hours. _What happened to me?_

Sonny happened.

Slowly, someone starts clapping, and soon enough, everyone starts putting their hands together and clapping. I smile as I exit the church—a _real _smile—and for the first time since Friday, I don't feel so alone.

I look up at all of the stars, and I see one in particular that shines brighter than the others. Something wells up inside of me, and I know it's _her_ star. It's hers.

_Hold still, Chad Dylan Cooper. Right now, everything is perfect._

* * *

**A/N- So... what'd you think? I'd love to know (: It doesn't take long to review, but it makes my day! I'm also open to anonymous comments (:**


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